Chapter Forty-Eight Before—Poppy
| Forty-Eight |
Before—Poppy
I entered his office bracing myself to discover something horrible, but nothing jumped out at me.
The dark wooden paneling wasn’t to my taste, but I could see how it would inspire someone who wrote horror.
And the enormous, intricately carved desk was over the top but added to the mystique.
In the center of the desk was a desktop computer and two large monitors.
The only other items on the desk were a thick thesaurus and our wedding photo in a silver frame.
A plush oriental carpet covered the floor, and bookcases lined each wall.
I suddenly felt foolish. Henri had made me paranoid.
I had half expected to find women’s heads nailed to the walls.
I took a seat behind the desk and clicked the mouse.
The screen lit up and Bennett’s manuscript populated it.
I knew I shouldn’t, but it was too tempting not to look.
I took note of the page number so that I could scroll back to where he’d left off, and then I went to the beginning of the document.
It was untitled, and the first sentence sent a chill down my spine: Death came for her like a lover in the night.
I couldn’t stop reading. The story was engrossing, slightly reminiscent of something but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
It had a strong Gothic feel, and I could picture his fans curling up by the fire and devouring Bennett’s words.
I heard the chime of the clock and realized I’d been in here for over an hour.
He would be back soon. This was my last opportunity to look around.
I had Henri in my ear chastising me for not looking in the drawers.
I pulled the top drawer on the right open. Pens, paper clips, sticky notes. All organized neatly. The second drawer had his stationery: Bennett Bryson emblazoned in navy blue on cream paper. The bottom drawer wouldn’t open. I pulled several times, but it wouldn’t budge.
I went back to the manuscript and returned it to the page he had left it on.
I saw that there was an open browser, and curious, I clicked on it.
My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
How could he do this? The implications of what I was seeing rushed over me, and I sat in stunned silence, scrambling to think of what to do now.
Could he have an explanation for this? Maybe this was another form of research.
It had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.
I’d talk to him tonight on our way to the Hamptons.
I was sure he’d be able to put my mind at ease.